Blog Entry
by Harborough
Summary: John needs to clear his head.  He can't talk about this with anyone.


**Blog entry (private setting):**

This is _dangerous_.

Sherlock has no conception of privacy, but if I don't talk to _someone_, even this stupid blog, I think my head might explode. I used an eight key alphanumeric password, so I think I am safe.

Can one have a midlife sexual identity crisis? I am a doctor, so I can answer this question medically, but that's not the answer I need.

I may not yet know the answer to my personal conundrum, but I _do_ know the cause. Intimately, considering we share a flat. Insufferable git.

Right, then, John. What's the point of writing this if you are disingenuous? If you can't be honest with yourself, you're a lost cause, mate.

Courage, man. This can't be as bad as getting shot.

For twenty years, I've been happy to chase women, flirting and laughing my way into their beds. I have a strong sexual drive, always have. Honestly, I just like women – their smell, their soft voices, their smooth skin.

So what, in the last seven months of living with Sherlock Holmes, has changed?

For a straight man, I am thinking about my flatmate a worrying amount. I don't mean harping about the groceries or asking him to pick up after himself, either. I notice his lithe body, I notice his graceful hands. I notice his skin and hair. I even caught myself noticing his scent about the flat. Went over to Rachel's that night, right sharp.

She offered me tea and a pillow for the sofa.

Most straight men would chin you for calling them gay, or even if you insinuated as much. Not Sherlock. I think from day one his utter indifference to the jokes and comments caught my attention. Also, his cold dismissal of that poor, besotted morgue tech. Poor little kicked puppy. Sherlock didn't even notice your presence, much less your romantic interest, poppet.

I _have_ been the focus of his attention, however, on many occasions, which in itself is odd. Sherlock is not interested in 'normal', which has been enumerated to me by the man himself many times, mostly in irritating ways. I'm just an average man, however, nothing special, so his regard constantly perplexes me. I am methodical and organized. I have routines and I adhere to them. What in that vast expanse of mundane that I call my life could possibly interest his big, beautiful brain?

Sherlock notices the slightest change in my appearance, tone of voice, my routine. He also spends an inordinate amount of time staring at me, when he's sitting in his chair or lying on the sofa.

Sometimes I think it's just because I'm his flatmate. Perhaps he'd level that scrutiny at the skull if I weren't conveniently around. I tell myself that it's part of his deductive process, but...secretly...I hope it's something else.

I don't know why, but I find his attention intoxicating, and frightening. Standing in his presence, under his grey eyed scrutiny, I feel completely exposed. He knows what I'm thinking, even if I don't say a word, the same way he knows where I've been and in whose company. There are no layers, no protective clothing when Sherlock looks at you like that.

Combined with the casual touches, his fear for my safety, and his desire for my company (really, what can I tell him at a crime scene that he doesn't already know?), I can't help but draw several working theories:

I am his best friend.

I am his favourite toy/possession.

I am useful to him, like an extra set of hands, or a secretary.

He is interested in me.

Any or all of these could be true.

Now I have to decide how I feel in return.

I know the mechanics of sex, gay or straight. I am a doctor, after all. What I don't know is how it would feel, or if I would enjoy it. What I do know is that I want to be closer to Sherlock. I think I want to press against him. You wouldn't know, but under those slim suits he is quite fit. I want to touch his hair, to rumple those curls. I want to feel his heat.

I also think I want to kiss him. Scratch 'think'. I _know_ I want to kiss him.

He's _luminous_, Sherlock is. Watching his passion, his drive, his determination during a case is like watching a bright flame. I want to draw close and warm myself in the light of that brilliance.

I think I might be in love with my flatmate.

Bloody hell.

ooooOOOOoooo

_John,_

_Really, this amounted to an invitation to read your blog. _

_An eight key alpha numeric cipher?_

_Please._

_To answer your (unasked) questions:_

_You are not ordinary. Behaviours are a set of organized stimulus response reactions from the brain. Your behaviour, however, never ceases to surprise me._

_I don't know why I stare at you, except that it is pleasing and seems to help my thought processes._

_I _do_ know what you're thinking, where you've been, and in whose company. Really, John, you could try a little harder._

_Kissing would be acceptable. Close proximity would give me a chance to continue my observations about you._

_I love you, too._

_-SH_


End file.
